


Silver Linings

by n_nami



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, injured!Midorima, no kidding, nurse!takao, there is no basketball played in this fic, this is really sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4947754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n_nami/pseuds/n_nami
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For someone who's following fate and generally has a lot of luck, Midorima manages to hurt himself in the dumbest way possible. Ironically, it's Takao who's more affected by his accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Linings

**Author's Note:**

> For MidoTaka day 2015!

The knock on his door is so insistent that not even the fuzzy fog that clouds Shintarou's mind can completely drown it out.

“Yes?” he calls out, although his voice is still raspy from sleep.

“You got a visitor!” his sister chirps from behind the closed door.

“Let him in.”

It's not like Shintarou doesn't know exactly who his visitor is. It's the last person he wants to see right now, but also probably the only one.

The painkillers make it pretty hard to sit up, but Shintarou tries his best anyway, and when the footsteps on the stairs have reached the top, he's somewhat upright in his bed.

The door to his room clicks open.

“Hey, Shin-chan.”

“Takao,” he nods, and it might have come out a bit forced.

A hand is on his back immediately, supporting him, while Takao mumbles along the linesof, “Here, let me help,” and stuffs Shintarou's pillow between his back and the headboard of his bed.

“Thanks,” Shintarou sighs and leans back.

It's only then that he realizes he's been pinching his eyes shut in pain, so he finally opens them.

The world is still fuzzy and his leg throbs, but despite the jolt of pain shooting up through his knee and hip and into his spine, Shintarou manages to take his glasses from Takao's hands, fingers brushing before he fumbles them onto the bridge of his nose.

“Do you need some more painkillers?” Takao asks, voice low and soft, nothing like his usual self.

Shintarou wonders, but doesn't ask. He needs painkillers before he can ask.

“Yes, please. Would you hand me another Ibuprofen 400?”

Takao's eyebrow rises as he shoots Shintarou a questioning look. “How much did the doctor say you're allowed to?”

“2400 mg within one day, but only if I need it.”

“And how many have you taken?”

“Half a pill, so, 400 mg when I came home from the hospital today. That was about noon.”

Takao clicks his tongue and doesn't break the pill he takes from the package in half. “Since that's been quite a while, better take the whole thing now so you can sleep later.”

“I don't--”

“Shin-chan,” Takao says, face for once set firm and serious. “Sometimes it's more important to relax and not have any pain to endure. That's what painkillers are for. If you don't take enough, you might just hurt yourself even more.”

“My leg is already broken, obviously,” Shintarou deadpans.

That, at least, gets him a huff and a tiny smile onto Takao's lips, and his gray eyes shine in the warm light of the lamp on Shintarou's bedside table. Right, he'd wanted to read, and probably drooled all over the book as he fell asleep on it. Disgusting.

“Shin-chan,” Takao reminds him with a scolding tone to his voice, his hand with the Ibuprofen tablet in it held towards him.

“Alright, I'll take it,” Shintarou gives in.

Takao hands him a glass of water with the medicine and Shintarou takes them both, empties the glass of water in one go. Without asking, Takao puts it aside afterwards, and Shintarou tries to find a more comfortable position on the bed. He ends up sitting with his back against the headboard, his broken left leg up on the mattress and his right leg bent at the knee to steady himself.

“What were you reading?” Takao asks, still calm and not as exuberant as usual, and it has reached a point where Shintarou is seriously worried about him. Before he can ask, Takao picks up the book that's halfway covered under Shintarou's duvet and quirks an eyebrow at the title. “'Bone fractures and their effect on musculature'? Really?”

Shintarou shrugs and lowers his head, avoiding Takao's eyes. He can't face him right now, not the genuine, earnest glance in them, not the sincere worry. “The reason is obvious,” he states and adjusts his glasses.

“Your fingers aren't taped,” Takao notes in surprise.

“There would be no point,” Shintarou huffs out. “I won't be playing basketball for a while. Maybe not ever again.”

Takao doesn't say anything for a long time. The silence feels pregnant, thick, the air ready to slice. Eventually, Takao sighs and sits down on the mattress, careful not to end up too close to Shintarou's hurt leg. “Why would you... what did the doctors say?”

“Broken in two places, with a splitter broken off right atop the ankle joint. A difficult compound fracture, but the operation went well, and, provided the rehabilitation process goes well, they said I'd fully recover.”

“Well, that doesn't sound too bad, right?” Takao throws in hopefully.

Shintarou still avoids his eyes when he shakes his head. “I'm going to miss practice for at least four months, and then I'll only be able to start with light exercises. With a once hurt ankle that might act up at any time, and playing the position and the way that I do, that's a death sentence to my career as a basketball player.”

Takao watches in silence as Shintarou rubs his temples, tries to dissolve the last of the fuzziness that sleep and the painkillers left, tries to dissolve the headache that starts. He's been thinking about this since the accident, three days ago.

“Really, Shin-chan,” Takao huffs, a bitter smile on his lips. “You're always such a lucky guy and then you manage to break your leg like that. Falling down the stairs. You're unbelievable.”

“To be fair, cancer was ranked last on Oha Asa that day, and you managed to break my lucky item,” Shintarou throws in, mostly because he wants to tease Takao. He needs to see Takao's usual side, really, really needs it right now. The annoying, constantly-laughing, silly side. Not the one trying to crack jokes and failing while wearing a fake smile.

“Ah, but that one is Oha Asa's fault, I mean, who declares a porcelain cup to be a lucky item? That was bound to go south real fast,” Takao throws in, and there it is, the tiny, genuine smirk. “Besides, I just put it on the bench. Who would've known that one of the first-years would jostle it enough to throw the cup off?”

Shintarou doesn't want to talk about it any more. It's exhausting. He takes a deep breath and says slowly, “There's nothing to be done about it now.”

Takao drops his chin onto his chest and stares at the mattress, his bangs falling into his eyes. After a long while, he mutters, “I'm sorry, Shin-chan.”

“There is no reason for you to--” Shintarou corrects him, but falters and breaks off mid-sentence when he feels Takao's hand on his right knee, on top of the blanket. It's a simple, consoling gesture, but Shintarou's mind is utterly focused on that little touch, on Takao's delicate fingers splayed out on the white sheets. The fingers that developed so many skills over these past three years, that lead their team, that lead Shintarou through tournament after tournament. 

Those fingers are trembling now.

“I'm sorry, Shin--” and this time, it's Takao's voice that breaks off, and his whole body shakes from the sob that wrings itself out of his chest.

Without allowing himself to think about it, Shintarou puts his hand over Takao's and squeezes it softly, lets the heavy moment pass before he asks, barely loud enough for Takao to hear, “Was the game that bad?”

“98 to 56,” Takao hiccups.

“What happened?”

“Akashi happened.”

The hand under his turns around, fingers curling around his own, squeezing back almost too tight. Shintarou's heart clenches at seeing Takao, his captain, his friend, so hurt, so sad.

“We didn't have a chance, not without you,” Takao continues, despite the tears rolling down his cheeks and dropping onto his standard issue Shutoku slack pants. “It was... it was horrible, this game, without you.”

“I'm sorry, Takao,” Shintarou says. “I wish I could've--”

“Don't be,” Takao interrupts him. It's then that he finally looks up, his eyes meeting Shintarou's. His face is a wreck of tear stains and red circles around his eyes, the gray in them shining silvery and bright, a bitter smile slowly spreading on his lips. “We only lost to Akashi. He-- They were just better than us, there's no shame in admitting that. We did our best and fought until the end. Everyone did. For the team and for you. I have no regrets. I told them to walk off the court with their head held high.”

After his little speech, it's Shintarou who has a hard time not starting to cry. He blinks a few times to compose himself. “Ootsubo-senpai would be proud of you, captain,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat.

_So after three years and the semi-finals of our third Winter Cup, this is the end of his high school basketball career, too._

“Yeah,” Takao mumbles.

The hand around Shintarou's squeezes tighter, then tries to untangle itself as smoothly as possible. Shintarou doesn't let it. Instead, he punctuates his firm grip on Takao's fingers with an, “I'm proud of you.” His voice is firm, unwavering, and Shintarou is thankful that he somehow managed that.

“Shin-chan.”

Shintarou doesn't know what to make of the way Takao sighs the annoying nickname that he got so accustomed to. It's soft, pliant in a way, but it drops from Takao's lips like a plea, like there's a deeper meaning to it that Shintarou doesn't get yet. It makes Shintarou's stomach queasy, in a strange, but exhilarating way. When Takao looks up from where he's been staring at their entwined hands, his tears have dried, but the brightness in his eyes has dulled.

“What is it?” Shintarou asks instead of trying to guess any further. He's not good at this stuff; some people call him cold, unemotional, impassive, but Takao had always been the exception to each and every rule that Midorima Shintarou had accepted as part of his life and part of who he is.

When it comes to emotions, he might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but Shintarou notices that Takao is uncomfortable, hunched over and his upper body twisted sideways to look at Shintarou. To make more room on the mattress for him, Shintarou shifts to sit more towards the wall to his side, uncurls his good leg to let it drop over the edge of the bed. With a light tug at Takao's hand, he invites him to relax and sit more comfortable, before he retrieves his hand from his knee to sit up straighter.

Takao's gaze on him wavers, insecurity and disbelief and  _something_ playing over his features too quick to pin down.

“Would you mind if I sit with my back to you?”

“No,” Shintarou says, a knee-jerk reaction that he regrets almost immediately.

Because Takao turns around to sit in the vee of Shintarou's legs and leans his back against Shintarou's chest. Then he sighs, deeply, as if the touch was what he needed to relax. They're not touching in a way that's deemed inappropriate, and for Takao, who's always been more touchy-feely than Shintarou himself, it's probably just an easy sprawl. Like when they're watching a movie and Takao falls asleep on his shoulder, drooling on Shintarou's shirt, and yet he can never bring himself to wake him.

“Am I hurting you?” Takao asks, and he's still so quiet, way too quiet, and not as cheerful as usual. Given the events of the past week, that's not a surprise, but it worries Shintarou. Takao has always been able to shake this stuff off, seemingly effortless.

Shintarou's stomach feels strange again. This time, it's more of a burn – heartburn because of the painkillers, maybe? - and an emptiness – well, he hasn't eaten all that much since the accident. So there's that. But he looks at Takao's tense shoulders, wonders if they've always been that broad, or if Takao just really grew into his shirts in the past year, filling those loose-fitting training shirts with muscles but not too much bulk. At least, he's still significantly shorter than Shintarou. Then again, not many guys are even close to his height, with the exception of Murasakibara.

There's no one he'd want to think of even less than Murasakibara in a moment like this.

“So,” he starts again, quieter, because his mouth is basically beside Takao's ear, “what is it?”

“Do you remember our first Winter Cup? Where we also lost against Rakuzan in the semi-finals,” Takao answers, equally quiet, and somehow, the atmosphere turns intimate.

Shintarou is not as shocked as he expected to be when the realization hits. He quickly shakes the feeling off. “Of course I do.”

“Today, it was so similar. We lost, we didn't cry until we'd left – well, I didn't until just now – but it was-- hollow, in a way. It's so different without you.”

Shintarou bites the inside of his cheek, unable to find the right words to say. He clenches his hands, resting on his thighs, unable to find the right place to put them. He closes his eyes, because he can't watch Takao so vulnerable. The captain of their team, always loud and confident, his friend, his  _best_ friend, so vulnerable and open.

Takao laughs, then, self-deprecating and without any of his usual mirth. “I'm almost glad it's over,” he admits. “I hate myself for it, and it's selfish to say, but I'm glad I don't have to play any more games without you. To be honest, I couldn't do it even one more time. I know I should play for the team and for everybody who worked so hard to get us where we are, but I can't and I'm selfish. It's meaningless without you.”

“Takao.”

Shintarou's breath leaves him in a rush, his heart beats so hard in his chest that he's sure Takao has to feel it against his back and his hands are sweaty.

The words ring in his ears, again and again.

_It's meaningless without you._

Common cutesy would be to say thank you. Between friends and teammates, it would be more than agreeable to put a hand on Takao's shoulder and tell him how appreciated his honesty is, and that Shintarou returns the feeling.

The words are already on the tip on his tongue. He knows what he wants to say. 'I was jealous that the others would get to play more games with you, while I couldn't without having appreciated our last game for what it was. I was jealous because I'm your partner, and I don't want to be replaced.'

But there's still that feeling in the pit of his stomach, and it curls into a powerful ball of emotions that Shintarou has no idea of how to untangle and identify. There's hunger, and need, and a pull towards Takao. There's the plea in Takao's eyes, still, when he turns his head slightly to look at Shintarou.

With that look, as simple as it is, Shintarou's resolve crumbles.

They're not teammates any more. They're out of the Winter Cup, they're third-years, they're retiring. Shintarou will study to become a doctor after graduating from high school. He knows Takao still hasn't decided yet, but either way, he won't be a professional basketball player.

'I'm only as good a point guard as my partner is a shooting guard,' he said as an explanation as to why he won't join a professional team. 'Besides, I'd rather have a job where I can help people and make a living.'

Shintarou remembers that moment vividly. It was in the locker room, after the first prelim game for the Winter Cup, barely a couple weeks ago. Takao was right in the middle of changing, he hadn't even worn a shirt and he'd sounded so nonchalant while saying the exact same things that Shintarou thought as well, if he was honest with himself.

_It's meaningless without you._

The sentence couldn't ring more true, and Takao had done it once again. Hitting the nail on the head, once again. Making Shintarou speechless with a realization, once again.

Shintarou remembers the ball of strange emotions from the conversation in the locker room all too well, too. It wasn't as huge back then as it is now, and how his feelings expanded so much over the past couple of weeks, Shintarou has no idea.

One could argue about them still being friends, even. They were friends because there was basketball, because they were teammates, but now that that's gone, what are they?

Best friends, still?

Shintarou looks at Takao's glassy, shining gray eyes, staring at his own. There's a softness to Takao's expression, an openness that makes Shintarou shiver. His lips are slightly agape, and his eyelids drop just a bit, and Shintarou can't help but stare back, even though they're barely centimeters apart. Shintarou shifts his posture, and they're even closer. He can feel the heat of Takao's body in his arms, can feel his chest rising and falling quickly, his breath coming in short succession. Takao's hair smells light and fruity and a bit like coconuts, and Shintarou wastes half a second's thought about teasing him if he used his sister's shampoo again because he forgot restocking his own, but in the end doesn't.

He associates the smell with Takao, and right now, with his eyes closed and Takao's breath tickling the sensitive skin of his lips, it makes his heart jump too hard to make fun of that fact.

The moment is only broken when Shintarou feels something brushing the tip of his nose and jerks back in surprise, only to find that it was Takao's nose against his.

They had been close enough to kiss.

It only hits home when Shintarou's head bumps slightly against the wall behind himself as he leans back.

But now, they're at a reasonable distance again and the moment is gone.

Takao sinks down a bit and rests his head against Shintarou's shoulder. After taking a deep breath, without hiding the fact that he's only doing this to calm down, he opens his eyes, too.

Or, rather, he lets his eyes flutter open to smile a brilliant smile right at Shintarou.

Shintarou forgets to breathe for a second, it's that stunning.

This is where friends, where teammates, would jump apart, laughing it off, playing down the moment they so obviously shared – this is where they should panic. But here's Takao, still leaning against Shintarou, and acknowledging said moment with a wide, happy smile.

Shintarou returns it.

It takes them a few moments, but eventually, Shintarou is the one who can't stand Takao's open, natural smile any more. He looks away.

“Hey, Shin-chan,” Takao hums, resting against his chest, relaxed as you please.

The tension in Shintarou's whole body dissolves, muscles going lax, joints going loose as he allows himself to enjoy the warmth and closeness of Takao's body that fits so well into the curve of his own. Takao tucks his feet under the blanket, seeking some warmth for himself, too.

Shintarou doesn't mind at all. “Hm?”

“Can you read something to me?”

“What are you, a child?” Shintarou grumbles playfully.

Takao gives him a scorching hot look from the corner of his eye and a devious smirk, and simply answers, “I like hearing your voice, and I'd like to know what it sounds like when we're so close.”

Shintarou feels heat creep onto his cheeks. Damn him. “I only have the medical book here, and I can't really get up to get a different one.”

He's fully aware of what he's doing.

This is just the last test.

“Well, I sure as hell won't get up either,” Takao states and snuggles against Shintarou's chest.

Talk about passing a test with flying colors.

“Alright, then,” Shintarou nods, unable to hide his amusement, and picks up the book from the bedside table. “You'd rather hear the chapter about fractured ribs and possibly punctuated lungs or the one about broken ankles?”

“Broken ankles sound good,” Takao chuckles.

Shintarou doesn't get the innuendo or whatever the reason for Takao's laughter is. It doesn't matter, as long as Takao smiles.

A smile that could brighten any day, and Shintarou finds himself at some very sappy thoughts that he doesn't dare to voice, not just yet.

There's a time and a place, and this is not it. Not for confessions. Not for things like,  _I couldn't go another day without that smile. I couldn't go another day without making you smile like that._

_I couldn't go another day without kissing that smile._

This is not the time and the place for big announcements and promises. They never needed those anyway. They were always just who they were with each other. Some called it attached at the hip, some called it an unlikely friendship, some called it a love-hate relationship.

None of them were right.

The truth is, some time between passes and sky-direct three pointers, Shintarou found, within his seemingly cold, impassive personality, a heart, and lost it as fast as he found it.

The grin on Takao's lips says he knows this.

It's so easy, and it's right there.

This time, Shintarou doesn't hesitate for a second before he leans down and kisses Takao until he's laughing breathlessly into Shintarou's mouth. Takao's lips are softer than expected, gentler than expected, and so addicting that Shintarou leans down for another kiss as soon as he got some oxygen back into his lungs.

When they break apart afterwards, they only share a smile.

Their basketball careers may be over, but their lifes have just begun.

_From here on out, come what may._

It doesn't need to be said. Not much does, between them. Shintarou leans his head against the mop of Takao's dark hair and begins to read out loud. Naturally, his arms are around Takao so that he can look at the page Shintarou is reading from, too.

Shintarou's lips form words, mutter them, and sometimes his voice breaks and he whispers, then clears his throat and continues, until Takao's breath evens out. His head is lolling sideways into the crook of Shintarou's neck, hot puffs of air tickling the little hair there, and Shintarou can't stop watching him.

He doesn't realize when he falls asleep, but his dreams smell of coconuts and his thumb is still tucked between the pages of the book.

***  
  
Shintarou wakes up to his mattress shaking, his glasses pushing painfully against the bridge of his nose, and a snuffling sound.

Upon opening his eyes, he's hit threefold – with the blinding sunshine coming in through the window, an equally blinding jolt of pain from his broken leg, and a sleepy-warm kiss against his collarbone. Looking down, Shintarou finds Takao still half asleep, wriggling in his arms. Takao obviously turned around during the night, now lying on his belly, with his head abusing Shintarou's chest as a pillow.

It looks beyond cute when gray eyes finally open with a flutter of eyelashes. Takao's voice comes out rough from sleep and dehydration, almost too quiet to hear.

“Shin... tarou?”

Shintarou's heart jumps into his throat and stays there. To hear his full name out of Takao's mouth is rare. It's new and exciting and maybe, now that they're – now that they're  _something,_ maybe now he can hear that every day. The thought is appealing, for sure. “Good morning,” he says, careful not to address Takao in any way.

Takao jolts fully awake then. “Morning, Shin-chan,” he mumbles with a smile. Shintarou has seen that expression during several training camps, but never this close, never this bright.

Shintarou likes the little dimples the smile creates, so he reaches out for Takao's cheek to smooth his thumb over the left one. With his untaped left hand. The sensation is almost too intense, and it makes Shintarou shudder.

“You just called me by my first name,” he states, admittedly still lost in thought.

“Oh,” Takao breathes, embarrassed.

“I liked it,” Shintarou admits, then adds with a smile, “Kazunari.”

“Is that so,” Takao stutters and blushes and Shintarou doesn't know what to do. He's helpless when faced with Takao's utter adorableness, with his puffy eyes and bedhead and dazed smile.

So he gathers Takao – no, Kazunari - in his arms and hugs him tight, kisses his forehead and the crinkles beside his eyes.

“You should take your medicine,” Kazunari laughs, then. “Before you get cranky from the pain.”

“I'll take it in a second,” Shintarou promises, then hesitates when his eyes fall on the medical book that is on its way to fall out of the bed. A thought hits him. “You'd make a good nurse, you know.”

Kazunari props himself up on his hands, hovering over Shintarou, and his face turns serious. “You know, that's not a bad idea. We could both apply to the same medical school, work at the same hospital. We'd see each other every day! And I could help people, plus the subject is pretty interesting and I'd understand what you're talking about when you come home from work and I'm busy feeding the kids--”

“What have I done,” Shintarou groans and rubs his temples. 

Kazunari smiles at him, then kisses him chastely on the mouth. “If this is what happens when you fall down the stairs and break your leg--” he starts to chuckle, but manages to collect himself after a second to finish the sentence, “-- then I'd say that was a rather lucky coincidence.”

Shintarou groans again, and this time, when Kazunari shifts on the mattress, the jostling causes quite some pain in his leg. “Shut up and give me my painkillers,” he presses out between clenched teeth.

Kazunari raises an eyebrow, which is when Shintarou realizes how rude he's been.

“I'm sorry. Please hand me my medicine, Kazunari?” Shintarou tries, softer.

He can see Kazunari melt at his words and notes that fact duly for further reference.

“Here you go, Shin-chan-- Shintarou.”

He's not any better, Shintarou realizes at Kazunari's widening grin and the heat spreading on his cheeks.

But he's too happy to care.

END

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
